


Sieging Classic

by sanguineOcelot



Series: Sieging Classic! [1]
Category: Dungeon Siege (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguineOcelot/pseuds/sanguineOcelot
Summary: A general summary of Dungeon Siege, a classic and oft-overlooked game.
Series: Sieging Classic! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666381
Kudos: 1





	Sieging Classic

**Author's Note:**

> Typing this without a functional 2, W, S, or X key, so bear with me while I copy-paste to victory.

"Lady Montbarron?"

I don't respond. I never do. It's only a dream. It's only ever a dream. I've learned to stop hoping for anything better than that.

"Lady Montbarron? I need your orders."

I turn around. My hair is long, longer than I ever let it grow. I'm a farmer, long hair is a danger. It's bound back in a long tail, bands of silk holding it in place. I've never seen silk in my life, how could I know what it feels like? My fingers brush the dark blue bands absently, a mark of my station as a Master Mage. I'm not one. I've never even seen a spellcaster, let alone used magic before. It's a dream. It has to be.

"Ma'am, the Seck are breaking through. We need orders or they'll kill us all."

I don't know what a Seck even is. I'm a farmer. But if that's true, how do I know that a Seck is a dangerous and ancient being, standing taller than a man? That their eyes are vulnerable? That I can freeze the tendons in their legs to make them more vulnerable to my comrades? The Heart of the Forest, an ancient and potent sorcerer's staff, thrums in my hand. It can sense my rage. My hate for the enemies gathering at our gate. The Keep is under siege. I've never seen this Keep. I'm a farmer. A nobody. I've never left my small village. I never intend to. I don't know what a Furok is, but the staff in my hand can summon a legion of them, all white fur and rending claws, in a heartbeat, channeling my massive magical abilities.

"It's alright. I know you, my love. I know that we can handle them."

A rich, deep voice at my side. A firm hand on my shoulder. My cheeks burn. Zed. My lover. A Master Mage of Fire, as I am of Ice. His rage rains fire and death upon our foes, as I bombard them with ice and lightning. My mind flickers back to last night. But no. I, the farmer, spent last night alone. As I do every night. I'm young and in my prime. I'm not interested in marriage. I, the Mage - this Lady Montbarron - rest my hand atop his callused knuckles, savoring the memory of rolling in silken sheets, coarse skin and hot breath and fiery passion. I've never lain with a man, but I remember it vividly. How could I?

"The horde stands at our gate. Together shall the forces of the Kingdom stand, and together shall we prevail!"

The captain of the Knights. I don't know his name - neither one of me does - but he can't distract me from the sharp realization. Zed. This is the last time I'll ever see him. The last chance I'll have to say goodbye. He knows of my prophetic abilities. He knows that I keep secrets from him. Why should he worry? If there were trouble, I would tell him. And since I have said nothing, he has nothing to fear. I hope he understands, as he stands over my corpse, Azunai's Lance buried in my heart. 

Not that this is possible. I'm a farmer. I'm nobody. This is a dream. It always is. I can feel myself waking. I can feel sleep leaving me. My lips move, not to bid my love farewell, but to speak words of nonsense. "Take the Bolt," I say. "Put the rune into the book. Awaken your power." Zed doesn't ask - he doesn't need to. He knows my words aren't for him. I kept secrets from him, and he trusts me. My betrayal will hurt him all the worse when he realizes what I did. But this is more important than him. If he understood, he'd know that. He'd agree with me. But he doesn't. He can't See like I do. So I have to keep him in the dark.

Not that I know any of this. I am Amira. I am a farmer. I have no knowledge of magic or beasts or love or battles or prophecy. As my eyes open, I anticipate another day in the fields. Another day of honest work and rewarding labor to grow the finest damned pumpkins Ehb has ever seen. The local Baron buys every single one I have available, every year, and this year is a fantastic crop. Not only can I replace all my tools, but I can finally fix the homestead. All the repairs I've needed since my parents passed, and then some, and I'll still have enough of a surplus to tuck a little nest egg away. But then I smell the smoke. I hear the screams. And deep inside, I know that I'll never make it to town with my pumpkins. My dreams are falling apart. But right now, my friends are in danger. There's something out there. And I need to stand tall and face it.

I tug on my pants and coat, thick wool that protects me from the chill of the air. No time for gloves, but heavy boots are a good idea. I charge through the door, grabbing the first thing I see - a heavy skinning knife, my father's favorite sidearm. I was never tall enough to string and use the Ranger's bow he used, but that was years ago. I could take it now, if I wanted - but it doesn't feel right. The cold hits me sharply, and the gasp I take fills my lungs with frost and smoke. Norick, a friend of my parents, is fleeing a short, stunted creature. I recognize it as a Krug, one of the forest-dwelling Goblin offshoots. Feral and vicious, they're a major pest, but how could they have done so much harm? Past the Krug, though, I see the bridge to town - and dozens more Krug, milling around in the burning ruins of the town. Just past the Krug menacing Norick, there's a broken crate, glittering goods sparkling inside. They call to me. But first, the Krug.

I charge in, letting loose the closest thing I have to a primal scream. It startles the Krug, who flinches back - and the knife in my hand buries itself to the hilt in the goblin-like creature's chest. I'm just as surprised as it is. I forgot I'd been holding it, too. Hot blood sprays my face, black and foul and sticky. The Krug are disgusting creatures, and can't even die cleanly. I shove the beast aside, ignoring Norick's hysteric sobs as I stumble to the crate. There's a humming in the back of my mind, a glimpse of things that may yet come to pass. There's a book, one I vaguely recognize as a spell tome that Mages use, and a pair of Runes beside it. One depicts a burning orb trailing fire, and my bones themselves feel strange at the sigil. An image flashes unbidden to my mind: Myself, older and wiser, the years hard on my face. Gleaming hellfire burns in my eyes, and with a gesture of my hand and a word of power, a rain of burning meteors consumes an entire army. A city. A nation. A world. It is what I could be, I realize, and the cruelty and delight in my eyes scares me to my core. 

My hand tightens around the knife in my hand, making way for another vision. I stand tall, proud, clad in armor of shining Adamantine. I am a bastion of resolve, my will unbroken, a shield between my allies and my enemies. But there's a coldness to my eyes. I've seen too many good men and women fall, lost too many soldiers, too many friends. The lot of the Champion is one of loss and endurance, but to attain such a feat requires sacrifice. Could I lay down my own life for the good of others? Of course. But could I knowingly sacrifice others? Could I send them to their deaths without ever telling them why? Could I survive such coldness? I step back, shocked and afraid, my attention already turning to the weapon beside the Runes. A small, supple shortbow, bound in fresh leather. I don't fight the vision this time.

I stand alone in the forest. My dark leathers are perfectly painted to match the shadows and the undergrowth. The bandits I hunt never know I'm there, nor do the animals that pass by. I am a ghost. A Ranger, like my father before me. I am the ending of lives, silent and brutal. The bow pulled taut in my hands is similar to my father's bow - in fact, it's the same one, modified and improved and customized for my hand. The arrow sits on the string, perfect and ready, the invisible arc connecting it to the throat of the leader of the men ahead of me. I can have a second arrow in the air before the first hits, and a third before he hits the ground. Another seven kills before they even realize they're under attack. No chance to retaliate. The life of solitude is the one I've chosen. To be unseen, a killer in the darkness, reveling in the Hunt. Really, who cares about the Kingdom? There's prey to be hunted. Let it all burn for all I care. I never needed them, and they never wanted me, so-

No. I pull myself back to consider the final object: a cool blue Rune. It crackles with power, setting my teeth on edge, but I feel a kinship I've never known. I see a woman in blue silks, silver bindings lacing the hems, raising her hands in the midst of a tent of wounded soldiers. A chilling glow suffuses her hands, and spreads among the injured, easing their pains and knitting their flesh together once more. Her eyes burn with the glare of sunlight on fresh-fallen snow, and there's a joy in her smile as the soldiers stare at her in nothing less than reverence. Her gaze falls upon me, and it's with a shock that I realize this is my mother. I barely remember her face, but it's clearly her. She speaks to me, her words soft and kind: "Make the world a better place, my little dove. Do what you can to save them." There's a shimmer as she lifts her hand, and my dream's words echo in turn. I know what I must do.

My hands move almost on their own. I take the blue rune, pressing it against the magic tome. I feel it come to life, begin to connect, and it seems to ask me if I'm certain. I accept, aloud and in my heart, and the knowledge of Nature Magic rushes through me. Lightning magic, the nature of arcs and charges and jolts and power. Revelations of the world itself as my mind expands to use it. Temperature and the movement of matter, the intricacies of freezing and thawing, of healing wounds and conjuring light and summoning beasts of Nature. My mind nearly overflows with such knowledge, but distantly, I am aware of another Krug. It rushes towards me, malice and bloodlust in its eyes, a cudgel raised and victory already assumed. But I am no longer nobody. I am no longer the Farmer. I am a Nature Mage. And as I lift my hand, to point a single finger at the creature, a reservoir opens within me. Mana, raw and untamed, flows through me - and through the Rune, I now realize, thanks to my enhanced knowledge - and leaps from my fingertip, a bolt of lightning impacting the Krug directly between its eyes.

As the beast falls, my mind is already expanding, Neural paths forming as my body is adjusted to enhance my affinity for my new ability. To prepare me, as it were, to be a Mage. It strikes me that the price of magical tomes is certainly understandable if this is the power they offer. Another Krug steps up and is laid low almost on instinct. Norick cowers and babbles, but I don't mind. All that matters is purging the Krug from my home. My Mana surges, replenishing itself as fast as I can utilize it, and it's a matter of moments before no sounds remain besides me, the fires, and Norick. 

"Gyorn! You must find Gyorn in Stonebridge! Tell him of this tragedy!"

He manages these words, and no more, as his heart finally gives out. A man of his age was never going to live this long, according to every physician he'd ever seen, and it was nothing short of a miracle that he made it this long - particularly with the wounds peppering his body from the Krug's torments. But still, there's a sadness in my heart as I drape my coat over his body. I no longer fear the cold - the chill of winter runs in my veins with the Nature Magic I bear, and I am more than ready for whatever comes. 

"Goodbye, Norick, my friend. I will see you in the next life, whatever that might be." 

There's no time for a tombstone. Not for him, not for any of them. The town is burning, and there are more Krug on the way. All I can take is my knife, my book, some traveling food, and my father's - no, MY bow. I tie the bundle up and strike off towards the nearby town of Stonebridge, where perhaps I can get answers and help. After all, what do I have to lose, beyond my life?

I don't realize how stupid I am. Divines have mercy on us all.


End file.
